Charity realized as she dangled uncomfortably above the Death Eater meeting/banquet, that the sands of her hourglass had run out. The last few days had been filled with nearly unimaginable terror and pain, culminating in her current situation as a living chandelier. Thirty six short years on this planet, a mastery in Muggle Studies and a Master’s Degree in Psychology from Cardiff City College, tenure at Hogwarts and sponsorship of the gobstones club at same; and now she was trussed up like a pig at a roast and likely to be served up as entertainment for rapists and murderers. It would be very easy to feel sorry for one’s self at a time like this. Charity however found herself quite cried out at the moment, what with being abducted from her own home and systematically tortured and all. In comparison, the humiliation of being the centerpiece in a celebration of horror and death was pretty mild, really.

Below her, Charity was vaguely aware of Lord Voldemort lecturing away in his raspy voice about some such bigotry and the like. She found rather to her surprise that she didn’t care a bit.

“Fugue state.” She thought “The mind’s way to keep itself from snapping.”

Charity was further surprised that upon examining her current attitude toward the situation, she discovered that she thought it all a bit funny. She was past the pain and terror, having either broken through it like a wall, or has just gone completely insane. In any case, it really didn’t matter, did it?

“When we crush the pathetic fools at Hogwarts and kill the Potter boy…” the Dark Lord was interrupted by the odd sound of giggling.

Voldemort looked around angrily. No one dares interrupt HIM whilst he speaks! He shot a glare at Bellatrix LeStrange (the usual culprit for laughter at odd times, doubtlessly a byproduct of her utter insanity)

“Ah, our guest seems to find something funny. Perhaps she wishes to share with the rest of the class.” Voldemort threatened in a sibilant hiss.

Charity responded with full blown laughter. She knew she was beyond their reach now. Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters couldn’t hurt her anymore.

In the recesses of her fractured mind, Charity recalled a muggle comedy skit starring a yank by the name of George Carlin. In the act, he had mentioned getting a “two minute warning” on one’s life ending, in the style of the end of a sports game. Mr. Carlin advocated the giving of a rousing speech to anyone nearby, as it would be one’s last chance to tell anybody anything.

Charity reckoned her “two minutes” have begun.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I find many things to be funny about this whole ridiculous situation. I, as a ‘fly on the wall’, have been hanging here listening to your pathetic excuse for a battle plan with your pathetic excuses for henchmen, and I have no choice but to laugh! Where shall I begin?”

“First off, the name sucks. I thought Ms. Granger’s name for her house-elf liberation group was sad, but Death Eaters? Why would anyone ‘eat death’? Is that supposed to be scary? It sounds like the name of a secondary school rock band, for Christ’s sake!”

“And what about the composition of this ‘elite terror group’, hmm? From what I’ve seen, you have about two hundred effectives, and I use the word effectives loosely. Nine-tenths of your forces are only good enough to shoot off killing curses and absorb spell fire. That leaves you about twenty ‘inner circle’ members that might be useful for something else besides elementary thuggery. Maybe.”

“Looking around the room at the little dinner party for your vaunted inner circle, I can see a slew of problems waiting to bite you in your pasty white arse. Is this really the best you can do? A blond backstabbing ponce and his equally poncy son. Poor Narcissia probably has to keep Lucius away from his traditional ‘rear’ entrance! Crabbe and Goyle, who are basically two troll-shaped bookends. I’d insult them, but I don’t have the time to explain it all. Yaxley, who had to get an auror badge to compensate for what he doesn’t have in his trousers. The less said about such a small subject, the better. Rookwood, thrown out of the Unspeakables for his treachery and too stupid not to get caught. How you let a ministry run by Fudge of all people catch you, I’ll never understand! Doholov, stinks of cabbage and got pasted by a schoolgirl at the DOM. Yes, she beat you. No need to make nasty faces about it. Had she been more ruthless, we’d all be spared your obnoxious presence here tonight! Severus, you’re just a sad excuse for a man. And you, Pettigrew, standing over by that wall like a bloody waiter! You betrayed your best friends just to lick Volde’s scaly arse? You wanker! And lastly, that whole LeStrange mess over there. Bella’s completely round the twist, Rabastan’s shagging his sister-in-law, and Rodolphus is shagging him! Your own brother Roddy! Be gay if you want, Lucius over there might give you some pointers, but not your own brother!”

Charity paused for a moment to survey her handiwork. To her utter delight, everyone of the above named subjects was fuming in some way, except Bella, who just looked confused. Voldemort was speechless.

“Given the proclivities of the pureblood set, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at Mr. LeStrange shagging Mr. LeStrange in the bum. You all do have a thing for relatives, don’t you? Maybe if you all explored the dating scene outside of a family reunion setting, perhaps you all would be a bit less ugly and insane. Really! Kissing cousins and all that! You’re as bad as muggle royals from the last century! Just think, maybe healers can name a physical deformation after one of your families, like the Hapsburg Lip! Maybe the Crabbe Troll Visage, or the Yaxley Micropenis!”

“Time for the big kahuna.” Thought Charity.

“And you, Mister Dark Lord Thingy, with your pathetic minions and a face that looks like you’ve had work done by a disbarred plastic surgeon on meth! Voldemort? What is that, poor French for ‘escape from death’? Why don’t we just call you Tommy Riddle? Poor, sad Tommy Riddle who used to get buggered by the bigger boys at the orphanage and feels that everybody owes him because he’s had a crappy life! Boo hoo, cry me a river, arse-face! “

Voldemort’s left eye was twitching a bit. Bella continued to look confused.

“Your strategy sucks hippogriff balls too, Lord Riddle-me this! Sure, you can beat the Ministry. They’re even more incompetent than this so-called organization. But then what? You’re going to take over the muggle world? With two hundred wand-waving apes? Maybe you haven’t heard, but there are currently around Twenty Five Million magicals in the world, total, about one hundred thousand in the UK. There are over six billion muggles. Six Billion! How in Merlin’s name can you overcome a two hundred forty to one advantage? With your actual numbers, it’s more like thirty million to one! Then you have to consider the power of muggle weapons and armies. Protego doesn’t stop bullets! Maybe you all missed out on that whole Gulf War thing a few years ago, but muggles can even steer thousand pound ‘smart bombs’ in through specific windows of a structure! The Statute of Secrecy was enacted to protect wizards you dolt, not muggles! If you manage to piss them off enough, they can easily erase our whole sodding culture! I can say with all certainty Mister Tommy Riddle, the path your taking will end in nothing but death for all of you. The only questions are when and by whom.”

“Farewell to those whom I love; I’ll see you again one day.” Charity thought, the sentiment too fine a thing to express in front of the assorted filth around her.

“Alright, you tossers. I can shout at you all day, but I’ve better things to be doing in the afterlife. So why don’t one of you pull out your wand from the general vicinity of your arses, and fire off the only sodding spell any of you lot can perform with any competence. You sicken me, and my only regret is that I was ever afraid of you. Do your worst!”

The fierce snarl on Charity Burbage’s lifeless face was a first for the assembled terrorists. It really seemed to take all the joy out of killing.